


To Thy Rudder Tied

by wellthatsood



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, One Shot, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthatsood/pseuds/wellthatsood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas enjoys the quiet moments with Jimmy; Jimmy is nearly incapable of being quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Thy Rudder Tied

Thomas was caught between a doze and the body nestled against him, smiling lethargically against his shoulder, all golden and gleaming as afternoon sun drifted in from the high windows of his bedroom.

It was a rare afternoon of stillness at Downton, the sparse sort that Thomas remembered appreciating so much when he was a footman. They were in the lull between meals, which Carson normally filled with extraneous duties— there was always something to be done, wasn’t there? But today, he had sighed, and said, “Be certain that you’re ready by this evening, is that understood?”

Jimmy announced— theatrically, Thomas noted with a grin— that he was off to have a nap in his free hour.

“Aren’t you like a proper Lady?” Alfred teased, nestling himself at the servants’ hall table with a deck of cards and a housemaid. But Jimmy could only shoot him a look before dashing up the stairs, while Thomas slipped out unnoticed, quietly making his way upstairs a few minutes later. That was one of the perks of being under-butler— nobody but Carson really knew what he was supposed to be doing. If he happened to vanish for a stretch of time, there was no one to question it, as it wasn’t their place to know. As long as his tasks were complete, Carson didn’t like to bother with Thomas any more than he had to.

Jimmy’s shoes were haphazardly tossed about by the door, his jacket flung over one of Thomas’s chairs— causing Thomas to roll his eyes and tell Jimmy he’d never move up from being a footman if that was the way he treated clothing. Jimmy ceased any further criticism by divesting Thomas of a few articles of clothing, practically purring in his ear, “I can dress and undress someone right well, don’t you worry about that.”

Thomas wouldn’t allow for much indecency, to borrow the phrase, at this early hour. By his rule, they were only allowed to let their guard down when it was late enough at night that no one would come knocking. So they passed the afternoon mostly dressed, exchanging languid kisses pressed together on Thomas’s narrow bed.

“That’s enough now,” Thomas said, gently nudging Jimmy away with a hand against his chest, once he noticed that Jimmy was getting a bit over-eager. “It won’t do to have you flustered and trying to serve dinner.”

Jimmy grumbled into his collarbone, rutting his hips in protest against Thomas’s side. “I’ll manage.”

“I don’t think,” Thomas answered with a soft, chaste kiss to Jimmy’s forehead. When Thomas had first started working as a footman, there had been an older bloke who liked to tell all sorts of lewd stories in a whisper, before they went into the dining room— just because he was older and he could get away with it, and he liked to see the new footman squirm. He talked only of women, of course, but Thomas was young and imaginative enough to switch things around according to his youthful needs.

So no, he would not be letting Jimmy try to go about his job in any state of excitement— or in any state post, for that matter, which could be just as difficult to hide. Jimmy was one to flush all shades of pink and red.

Jimmy was also one to protest until he got his way. “You’re no fun.”

“Can’t we just be together?” Thomas asked, full of fondness even in disagreement, as he picked a book off his nightstand and opened it. This was usually a sign for Jimmy to settle down.

Not today, it seemed, as Jimmy continued to run a tempting hand along Thomas’s torso, fingers working their way beneath buttons and rubbing against his abdomen.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Jimmy answered. “Be with you.”

“Oh, to be young and unbridled,” Thomas remarked with a long-suffering sigh, that did little to hide his amusement.

Jimmy smiled brightly, in the sort of way that made Thomas momentarily consider whether all his carefulness was better thrown out of the nearest window. Jimmy had that effect.

“It’s hardly my fault if I can’t resist you,” he chided, pressing his lips against Thomas’s jaw.

With great determination, Thomas opened his book and began to read, doing his best to ignore the softness of Jimmy’s lips against his skin. “I think there’s some what would disagree with that— besides, we’ll have all the time in the world tonight, I promise.”

“You better.”

Jimmy let the matter rest, instead tangling his limbs around Thomas and staring down his chest at the book clutched firmly in his right hand. He held it at the spine, occasionally using his left to flick to the next page. As much as Thomas enjoyed spending time with Jimmy, there was something all the more enthralling to him about their moments of silence— or stillness, it was more like, as Jimmy was never fully quiet. Or perhaps he just seemed that way to Thomas, who was always aware of his presence in a keen way.

It hadn’t been that long, with the two of them, but they had settled into a comfortable familiarity fairly quickly— likely, because they had been progressing towards this point for longer than either of them had fully realized.

Thomas loved it. He loved that Jimmy wanted to be with him. He loved that Jimmy wanted to be with him even when Thomas was occupied with other things. It felt real, almost domestic, even— the sort of thing Thomas never imagined could be meant for him, not when it had only ever been a series of men who wanted to have it off with him before scurrying back to their normal lives.

“What is it you’re reading?” Jimmy finally asked, as Thomas turned another page.

_“Antony and Cleopatra.”_

Jimmy said nothing.

“It’s Shakespeare.”

Jimmy made a noise of recognition, before giving a great yawn and pulling himself closer to Thomas— if that were even possible. “Does everybody die at the end?”

Thomas answered yes and Jimmy gave a snort of derision, commenting on Thomas’s preference for reading stuffy, depressing Shakespeare when he could have been giving Jimmy a much more pleasurable afternoon.

“What a bleedin’ romantic you are.”

“I can be a romantic!” Jimmy protested, full of indignation. “I had to memorize some Shakespeare in school. Supposed to help with the accent, you know, reciting…”

Thomas said “ah,” and turned the page, without giving Jimmy a speck of attention. This, to Jimmy, was even worse than being denied the physical intimacy he yearned for. Nobody denied him attention when he sought it, that was for certain.

Jimmy placed his hand overtop Thomas’s, which simultaneously knocked the book from his unsuspecting and slackened grip. Thomas shot him a look, but Jimmy didn’t see. He was staring at Thomas’s hand with a look of concentration, as though he were expecting to see the words lodged in the back of his head somehow reflected in front of him.

“'Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.'”

He finished by pulling Thomas’s hand towards him, placing a soft kiss squarely into his palm. In a voice that was clearly meant to be seductive, Jimmy murmured into his skin, “See? I can be your Romeo.”

Thomas laughed fondly, gave Jimmy’s hand a quick squeeze, and then retrieved his book. “That’s Juliet’s part, you gump.”

Jimmy— disgruntled— made no more attempts at recitation or romance for the remainder of the afternoon.


End file.
